The Fox and the Wolf
by erasableprism
Summary: The Noble House Benefort has been a close ally of the crown since the days of the rebellion - but when the Hand of the King suddenly dies, young Arabelle Benefort must travel with her family to Winterfell to meet the royal party. Arabelle has always had a soft spot for the Stark family, but what will happen when certain marriage agreements are struck? (OC/Robb and OC/Jon)
1. Chapter 1 - The Twin Foxes

**A/N: I've had this story in my head for about three years now, and I've finally decided to write it! I'm very excited to share my story and I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it. Just as a quick disclaimer, obviously the characters of AGoT are not my own, but the Benefort's and their respective staff and hold I have penned. Anyway, feel free to review, I'd love to hear from you guys!**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE - THE TWIN FOXES**

* * *

The sunrise looked magnificent from the perch of the tower. The Nightfort had always given extravagant views of the sunrises, with fresh morning dew lacing the icy grass plains to the east, brooding mountains standing guard over the valley. Arabelle wiped her tired eyes as the first few rays peered over the mountain. She couldn't remember the last time she had woken up so early, her father used to tickle her toes to wake her from her slumber and take her to this very tower when she was a child.

She missed being young. The young don't have to worry about their futures, they get to play and learn and love. The young dream of meeting their one true love, and living happily for the rest of their days. The young don't realise that they will be forced in to a loveless marriage with someone they've barely met before having to bed them.

Arabelle was lucky, her father had protected her so far from having been pawned off. If she were any other young noble lady she would've been married off years earlier, being eighteen and unmarried was quite unusual for a girl of her status. But Alyn Benefort had fought with the alongside the great King in his rebellion seventeen years prior, having been great friends with Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark years earlier. The three of them had grown up in Jon Arryn's care, the Lord of the Vale, Warden of the East. He raised the boys as his own and the three of them were brothers, not in blood, but in heart. House Benefort had the crown's favour, and the gratitude of not just a King, but a brother.

She just prayed she wouldn't have to marry the young prince. She didn't know much of him, only that he was three years younger than herself and fair of hair. She had no desire to be a queen, not even a desire to be a wife. To her, fulfillment would come in the form of seeing everything, all of the beauty that the land has to offer. A smirk crept upon her face as the sun slowly rose higher and higher in to the sky.

Arabelle leant backwards in to the tower and swung her legs over the windowsill, standing back up lightly before breaking in to a run. Her leather boots were quiet on the cold cobbled stone of the tower, the stairs winding down for what felt like seconds before she skipped out in to the cold corridor, jutting quickly in to her room to wrap herself in her heavy fur-lined coat, tying it at her neck and swinging her nearby quiver over her shoulders, her bow quickly following suit. She grabbed her gloves before rushing once again in to the corridor and slowly pulling her door shut.

Grasping her gloves, she jogged down the winding corridors grinning wildly as the cold air numbed her face. It was as fine a morning as any to go hunt, and it was as good an excuse as any to slip away from the hustle and bustle of the castle.

Her boots squeaked as she came to a quick stop, spotting a guard actually on post. Usually at this time of the morning the younger guards would sneak out to local taverns and whorehouses, that is unless there were any visitors in the hold. Visitors were far and few between these days, the ruckus usually being servants and kitchen staff going about their various jobs.

"My lady."

"Please, Sir Hornwood, you know better than that. It's Ari to you." She smiled sweetly at the man. He was broad-shouldered and only slightly greying. A very handsome man, she thought. "You've known me near on ten years now, and kept me out of trouble more times than I can count."

"Formalities, Ari. Wouldn't want Ms. Flynnt to hear me misaddressing our young lady, would we?" The two chuckled, but he was most certainly right. Ms. Flynnt organised all of the staff of the castle, and by god if she didn't do her best to give the guard a hard time too. "Is he in?"

Sir Hornwood gestured to the door plainly, "if you dare to waken the beast, be my guest." Arabelle smiled. "I seem to be the only one brave enough."

The greying guardsman opened the door for her, "Good luck." He winked at her, before closing the door behind her.

* * *

"Corbois wasn't on guard at my quarters this morning. You owe me some gold over that." Arabelle smirked as she leant against the frame of her brother's balcony.

"Well they usually don't crack until about two years in, I suppose when Flynnt finds out he'll be given a good flogging" She could hear his smirk in his voice. Doran enjoyed Flynnt's telling-to's as much as anyone, although far less when he is on the end of them. He groaned with tiredness as he pushed himself up, rolling his eyes as his sister paced to the foot-end of his bed. "Mother can try as she might, she'll never get you out of those leathers." Arabelle scoffed. She was partly thankful that her mother was not so persistent on the matter. She loved that her daughter preferred running through the mud and hunting to more becoming behaviours of a young woman, Arabelle knew. All Marieysa Benefort wanted for her children was a long and full life.

"Practicality, dearest brother. You try wearing a dress, I tell you it isn't nearly as comfortable as it looks." Doran laughed, his eyes crinkling as he lifted his head, "You have me there."

Doran was tall and muscular, a broad physique that Arabelle mockingly credited to the amount of sweet cakes the boy consumed. He was uniquely coloured for a man of the North, no doubt in part thanks to their fair haired Southern mother. His hair was shorter than most men his age wore it, with the colour and intensity of flames. He was slightly paler than his sister, but both had the Benefort blue eyes. Though twins, it was hard to pick unless you stood the two together and really looked at them. Arabelle had inherited her father's mousy brown hair, brown waves cascading down to her waist, thick and dark eyelashes veiling her deep blue eyes. Though pale, she had the olive-toned skin of her mother. The Benefort's were known well for their attractiveness – it had made them desirable as potential partners for many a noble lord's children.

Arabelle flashed a grin before turning to examine a row of trinkets along her brother's table. "They call us the twin foxes, you know." She ran her finger along the surface of the table, collecting the dust. "A name given to us at court by the people that covet us for their noble little children." Doran hung his head between his knees. Arabelle could hear a smile break upon his lips. "Don't remind me. At least half of the ravens sent to us are from my adoring public." Arabelle giggled and shot her brother a look. Though it was true, he was quite a hit with all the young girls at any hold they visited.

Arabelle sat next to him before gently placing a hand on his knee, sitting in silence with her dearest brother for a time. "I don't want to be pawned off to someone I don't know. I don't want to have to leave the Nightfort." Doran sighed his agreement before he placed a hand over his sisters and took it in his own. "I know, Ari."

They sat in silence for a moment. She knew he felt it too. They were twins, inseparable since birth. Their father could only delay it for so long.

Arabelle could hear loud footsteps and muffled voices coming from the corridor. As the young foxes turned their heads, the balding Lord Alyn Benefort barged in, clad in only simple leathers, holding a peculiar scroll, bearing the royal seal. He hesitated, running a hand through the remnants of his hair and wiping small beads of sweat from his brow before continuing towards his children. "A raven. From King's Landing."


	2. Chapter 2 - Little Wolf Pup

**A/N: So I had this written up and didn't plan to post it so soon, but with renovations at my house I've found it harder to study but easy to get lost in writing. And of course I was procrastinating an assignment whilst my internet was turned off earlier. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO - LITTLE WOLF PUP**

* * *

Fresh snow crunched under heavy hooves, the grunting of the horses almost drowning out Arabelle's thoughts. Lord Benefort had decided that the extravagance of carriages and throes of servants didn't befit him, and with that he had his family and two guardsman saddle up in simple leathers and leave as immediate as could be managed. Many thought it peculiar, but Alyn Benefort was a straightforward man. He did what had to be done, and saw no point in the traditions of court. He thought them stupid, quite frankly, and instead lived as close to a commoner as a great lord could. The only sigil they carried with them were hidden under their cloaks. _Bandit attacks_ father had reasoned. _They'll size us up from afar. _Arabelle clutched at the sigil above her breast. She traced the outline of the sea foam-coloured fox upon the navy blue crest.

_Darling, what about our fine clothes? We aren't meeting just any man, we're meeting the damned King! We can't look like meager peasants_' Her mother had folded her arms and furrowed her brow, glaring up at her husband. _Get Ms. Flynnt to send it behind us. It'll arrive before the King does. _He father had waved her off, seeing to his own saddle. Arabelle saw her mother opened her mouth to protest further, but she saw the sadness in her husbands eyes. His heart was heavy, they all knew. It was best not to argue further.

They had camped overnight at a familiar site, one that was frequented considering how many times a Benefort visited Winterfell. She knew the Stark's as an extension of her own family, Lord Eddard Stark was her Uncle Ned. Alyn and Ned had remained close over the years since the war, the fact that they both lived in the north made it significantly easier. It was only a few days ride from the Nightfort to Winterfell on a paced ride, but Alyn insisted they ride hard.

It had been only three weeks since Arabelle had last visited. She hadn't expected to be back for at least a few more. Not that she didn't want to go, of course. The Stark children kept her on her toes, and it was far more fun than following Doran and pestering him to hunt with her.

She had spent most of the previous night standing at the edge of the camp, staring in to the shadows and watching for movement. "What do you think the King is coming all the way north for?" Doran had followed Arabelle to the border of the camp, standing to her side and watching the darkness, wondering what his sister was looking for. "I have my suspicions. And I too, suspect that they are quite the same as yours." Arabelle turned to her brother and furrowed her brows. "What I don't understand is why Uncle Ned? It would make more sense to choose Lord Tywin."

Doran cleared his throat, clearly thinking quite similarly. "Perhaps he doesn't trust him. I don't blame him, really. You know what he did in the war. What he did to those Targaeryen babes." Alyn certainly had his own opinions on the Lannisters, one he had made quite clear to his own children. "I suppose speculating doesn't really help, Doran. Father will tell us in time."

And after a brief nights sleep, the group were off again at break of day. Alyn rode a ways out at front, a guard and Marieysa not far behind. The remaining guard rode behind Doran and Arabelle. Ms. Flynnt had insisted on more guards, but father brought only two. _Benefort's are more than capable in combat. _He had said. And it was true. Even Marieysa had learnt to use a sword and shield soon after marriage.

It took two days of riding for the entourage to near Winterfell, and as they approached Arabelle grinned at the grey stone walls of the keep. It was a second home to her. The blood red leaves of the godswood looked as though they were climbing the vast walls, mighty slabs of stone that looked a little worn. As they approached the gates there was not even a question as to who the leather-clad riders were, and with gates already open they rode in to the courtyard where Lord Eddard Stark awaited them, his face stern and unmoving. It was an odd sight for Arabelle, when he had been the one there to greet them in the past, a slight smile always tugged at his cheeks.

Her father had rode in first and dismounted quickly, holding the reins of his horse. He drew back his hood and looked his friend up and down. "Ned." There was a pause as Lord Stark's eyes flickered to the rest of the travelling party. "Alyn, old friend. Thank you for coming so soon." They clasped hands, and Alyn passed the reigns of his horse to a serving boy who had approached. "We have much to discuss." Lord Benefort removed his riding gloves and gestured to his host. "At your behest." The two friends disappeared in to the keep, as quickly as they had arrived.

Arabelle swung her leg over her horse and stepped off, passing her reigns to the same boy her father had passed them to. "He'll explain it to us later, dearest." Her mother spoke as she too stepped off of her horse. "Of that I have no doubt." She walked to her daughter and swept a hand over her cheek. "Go find the girls."

* * *

"And we have to sew our favourite animal, and I can't even _draw_ an animal! And Sansa is so good at it, I hate it!" Arya spat as she stomped alongside Arabelle. The little wolf reminded her so much of herself at that age, rebuffing all the womanly activities that were forced upon her. "And the Septa _clearly_ favours her! If she compared our droppings she would say Sansa's is prettier!" Arabelle choked as she laughed, almost struggling to breathe. She definitely wasn't a little lady. "I know how you feel, my little wolf."

"Why can't I go learn archery with Bran? I'm so much better at it!" Arabelle placed a hand on the girl's back. "We can't fight it, pup. That's what is expected of men, and unfortunately for us embroidery is what is expected of women."

Arya kicked the dirt. "I want to be a knight. I don't want to marry a stupid boy. That's not what I'm meant to do. It's not who I am."

Arabelle sighed. Much the same as she was going through now. If the King was going to ask Ned to be the Hand, as she and Doran expected, then surely it would be Sansa pawned off to the young prince. Hopefully she would leave Winterfell much the same as she came to it; with family and no betrothed.

"I know, pup. I know."

Arya looked up at Arabelle quizzically, her dark eyes studying the elder's features. "You aren't married yet. And you're pretty. So it can't be because you're ugly." Arabelle smirked at the girls bluntness. "No, I'm not. And it's because I'm very, very lucky." She bent over to match the level of those dark eyes. "But I have no doubt that soon I will be. Maybe you'll be the exception, little one." Arya wrapped her arms around Arabelle's neck, hugging her tightly. "Ari, when you marry, promise you'll keep visiting."

A hard promise to keep. Arabelle didn't know where she would end up. Her father had always made it quite clear that he and Eddard had considered matching her up with Robb, the eldest Stark. And if she were to be honest, she'd rather that over a plump southern Lord who hadn't worked a day in his life. But if she were to be married off south, she didn't know how often she'd even see her own family.

"I promise, pup. I'll visit as much as I can." Arabelle drew the girl in tightly, and she could hear a quiet sniffle. Arya pushed herself off of Arabelle's shoulders and looked at her dead in the eye. "You could marry Robb and never leave." Arabelle chuckled, smiling at the young wolf.

"Stuck for eternity with Arabelle Benefort? I'd hoped the Gods wouldn't resign me to such a fate." Came a familiar voice from behind the girls. Arabelle turned her head to see the oldest Stark grinning at them, his thick Auburn hair looking redder than usual. "You would be so lucky to have me." Arabelle smirked, pushing herself up and placing a hand behind Arya's back. "You'd be more trouble than you're worth, Fox." Arabelle rolled her eyes and feigned boredom. "And what exactly do you want?" spat the wolf pup at her side. Robb laughed, approaching them and taking his sisters hand. "You've got to get ready for dinner, little one. Mother asked me to fetch you." Arabelle could see Arya was about to protest, but she bent over once again and caught her eye. "Easier if you just cooperate, from my experience." Arya sighed and slapped away her brothers hand, walking down the hall whilst grumbling under her breath about the atrocities she was forced to put up with.

Arabelle smiled as she little wolf grumbled and groaned down the hall. Robb turned back to face her, his hands behind his back as he stood tall. "It's good to see you again, Benefort." He smiled, his cheeks were flushed red from the cold of the evening. "And you, my Lord." She mocked a curtsey, tugging on an invisible skirt. "Worried you might be married off to the little prince, now are we?"

Arabelle brushed a stray lock of her from her face behind her ear, realising he'd heard more than she had originally believed. She had an affinity for all the Stark children and Jon Snow, but she always felt like a little girl around Robb. The little girl who followed the boys around when they would play and would often get in trouble to seek the approval of her male peers. "I think you know who will be marrying the prince when they come of age." Arabelle looked up at him under her thick lashes. It seemed apparent that everyone thought much the same of the King's imminent arrival. Robb cleared his throat, looking away from her deep blue eyes. "Yes, well. We shall see. In any case, dinner will be served within the hour. You should clean up too." Her smirked at her when he spoke those last few words, and she retaliated by lighting hitting his arm. "As should you." She winked at him, and with that turned on her heels.

"You wound me so, Benefort."


	3. Chapter 3 - Bullseye

**A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews and the favourites and follows, you're all amazing! I had some free time to finish this chapter off today so I hope you enjoy it. I'm focusing on building up Ari as a character and her relationships to others in the story in these first few chapters, as this is a primarily OC centric story. I hope you all enjoy it, and let me know what you think!  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE - BULLSEYE**

* * *

"Relax your bow hand, and lower your drawing shoulder. Keep tension in your belly and…"

With a sharp hiss the arrow had hit its target, thank the Gods. "Well done, Bran!" Arabelle clapped the lad on the back and bent down to meet his eye. "You let your frustration get to you. Don't. It does you no good, the more frustrated you are the more likely you are to miss. It could get you killed, pup." Bran furrowed his brow, walking to throw his bow on to the table nearby. His direwolf pup lay under the table asleep, every now and again he'd stretch out and yawn. "Arya's better." Arabelle pushed herself up from her knees, her eyes following Bran as he turned from her. "And Arya is two years older than you. It takes time, and you'll get there." Bran leant back against the table, his brows still wrinkled. "How old were you when you made your first bulls eye?"

"Eight. Pure luck, I tell you. Took me three years to make another."

"You had shot two by eleven and I haven't shot any." He huffed and his grip on the table tightened. He lowered his auburn head to the ground. _Gods,_ Arabelle thought. _Robb was just like this when he was a child._ "You're only nine. And what did I say about frustration?" Arabelle had her eyebrows raised and a grin on her face. "It's different for everyone. You know how good a shot Theon is? He was thirteen before he made his first."

The boy kept his sulking gaze to the ground, too stubborn to look up at her. "You're doing really well, Bran. If you keep at it, you'll get there. We'll work on breathing next time." He sighed once more, Arabelle could see he was berating himself with his own doubts. "Thanks." He mumbled, his head down and feet pushing dirt. He was far too hard on himself, trying to hold up to standards set by his older brothers.

Ned had asked Arabelle to help him practice his archery while she was staying, knowing that his son's impatience was getting to him. Arabelle was flattered, really. Many knew that the young fox was a master of the bow, something she had been practicing since childhood. Sword and shield, however, was not a skill that she would ever excel in. She found the heaviness of the shield made her feel clumsy and slow, which put her completely off balance. The only reason she could hold her own in a fight was that she was small and fast, her evasiveness was somewhat legendary among the guards of the Nightfort. Alyn had taught his sweet daughter that fighting with honour was foolish when her own life was at stake. _"What would keep you alive at the end of the day, my sweet Belle? Tiring from parrying your attacker blow after blow, or throwing sand in his eyes and striking first?"_ It was a lesson she would never forget. Fight to survive.

"Have you ever seen an execution?" Bran's murmur breaking her trance. _Right_, Arabelle thought. _He was taken on his first a few weeks ago._ Arabelle walked to Bran, standing beside him and leaning on the table. "I have, pup." She looked to their feet, both playing with the dirt. "It is not something you forget, your first." Most would find it ghastly that a great lord would bring his daughter to an execution. Women were far too delicate for that, most thought.

They both leant against the table in silence and pushing dirt with their feet until the direwolf pup yawned a big yawn and surprised itself awake. "Have you thought of a name for him yet, Bran?" Arabelle questioned, her tapping the pup with her foot. Bran tapped the wolf with his foot too, on the paw. "Summer." He said blankly. Arabelle smiled down at the tired young wolf, "A handsome name if I've ever heard one."

"I didn't look away." Bran mumbled, his eyes unmoving from their feet. Arabelle put her arm around his shoulders, pulling him to her reassuringly. "I wouldn't have thought any less of you if you had."

She saw a slight smile tug at his lips, making her smirk back. "Now, what is it my little wolf has planned today? Perhaps we could hide from good Maester Luwin and you could teach me a thing or two about using a sword!" Bran's smile was contagious, something always got her when he grinned. _Damn these Stark kids. They'll be the death of me._

"Oh look at that, the infamous Fox can't wield a sword!" The mocking voice was accompanied by heavy footsteps. Four men approached them, one holding a pair of sparring swords. "Something she isn't good at! Gods, could it be true?"

Bran pulled away from Arabelle, jumping up and practically sprinting over to the men. "Jon, Rob, look! I hit the cloth!" He pointed to the target, beaming as he tried to drag his brothers in to view. "See?" He looked up at his brothers excitedly. "Well done, Bran!" Robb said, ruffling his hand through his younger brothers hair. Jon clapped his brother on the back, "Good work. Soon you'll be better than Greyjoy." Theon snorted, his wild eyes looking at the target. "Not bloody likely with a shot like that."

Arabelle stood up from the table, glaring the Ironborn ward down. "Better than you were at nine." Her tone said it all. She didn't dislike Theon, really. In fact the two were quite good friends growing up. But his arrogance she detested, and she wasn't afraid to give him a good telling to when he needed it. "You've done excellently, Bran." Doran chimed in, walking between Arabelle and Theon. "No need to put him down, Theon." Doran clapped his friend on the back, taking a sparring sword from him. "You're still a shit sword arm." He smirked, tapping his friend on the shoulder with the wooden sword.

"No need for such profanities, Doran." Arabelle said, her eyes flicking from Bran to her brother to make her point. Doran tapped his nose with his finger, "Apologies, my dearest sister." He mocked a curtsey and chuckled before walking up to his sister and hugging her, ruffling her hair in the process. Arabelle never really realized how tall her brother was until he stood next to her, her head barely level to his shoulder. She had drawn the short card of her family, she had figured. "Now, what's this about you not knowing how to use a sword?" Jon asked, his fascination displayed in the part of a mischievous smile. "I've heard you're quite proficient with two daggers, my lady."

Arabelle smiled, taking a couple of steps toward the group. It was true, she could use daggers. They were light, and though two left her more vulnerable than she would be without a shield, her swiftness gave her the advantage once again. Alyn had presented her with two custom-made swords from the Free Cities on her eighteenth name day a few months prior, so light that they had felt like daggers. They were double-ended, a perfectly moulded hand grip between the two ends, and with practice she had begun to master them. Alyn had hoped to present his daughter with two Valyrian steel blades, having melted down a second heirloom sword, equalling the inheritance between his children. And so one was a pale, great Valyrian blade, and the other an almost black Dragonglass. The Valyrian steel was heavier, of course, and took slightly more getting used to, but with her body in favour of her right side it was easier to learn to balance the two.

Her marksmanship, however, was almost flawless. Whispers had spread of the young fox's affinity for the bow rather than sewing needle. Her father had awarded her with as unique a bow as any to accompany her unique swords when she aged eighteen. A bow as black as night, a menacing spiked bow as black as night, Dragonglass being second only to Valyrian steel. It was strange, many thought, that she did not use a wooden bow. But The dragonglass was not too heavy, and its appearance Alyn had said would "frighten away all of the young suitors".

No matter, she was still awful with the swords her friends used. They were heavy, and she often needed to use two hands just to wave one around madly. "Well, Jon Snow, daggers are not swords. Anyway, what use does a _lady_ have with swordplay?" She smirked, sarcastically flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Some lady you are." Robb said as he smiled, "We're about to go get in some practice. Care to join us, you two?"

Bran grinned up at his brother, but ultimately looked to Arabelle for approval. "I suppose we could hide from Maester Luwin." Bran grinned and took off, running for the barracks. "Bran!" Robb shouted behind, setting off to chase him with Summer at pace. The rest of them laughed before setting off themselves, Arabelle waiting for Doran and Theon to pass before sliding in next to Jon.

"I've missed you." She whispered, softly brushing his hand with hers as they walked behind the others. His fingers brushed against hers, momentarily holding them. His hands warm to the touch. "Aye. And I you."


	4. Chapter 4 - A Winter Rose

**A/N: Wrote this one while procrastinating! I've had a few private messages about Doran's name, as it is the name of the ruling Prince of Dorne, Doran Martell. I've named Arabelle's brother Doran because when I thought about writing her family I decided that I wanted Arabelle to have a brother much like my own, and it is as close as a Westerosi name can get to my brother's. Another chapter won't be up for a couple of weeks as I have five assignments due relatively close together, so enjoy this super long one in the meanwhile! Thanks everyone for the favourites and follows, that's what motivates me to keep writing! Please leave some feedback, let me know what you think.**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR - A WINTER ROSE**

* * *

The last couple of weeks had passed quickly. Arabelle had tutored Bran every morning after breaking their fast, and after that Maester Luwin would usually drag the boy off to his other duties. She wished she could spend all day with Stark younglings, but with the King arriving in just days Lady Stark wanted her children to exemplify their best behaviour. Catelyn was usually with Marieysa, the two an unmoving force particularly adept at planning feasts and extravagancies. Both women were Southerners married off to brooding Northern suitors and they both relished in each other's company, the two had become the greatest friends over the years. With all the women in the castle preoccupied and Arabelle being a guest, she often had little to do but follow the older boys around.

Before she had retired to bed that night, her lady mother had informed her that the royal party would arrive on the morrow. It had been enough to keep her from sleep, so deep in thought that she was constantly tossing and turning. Everything was going to change, she knew. Surely her Uncle Ned would not refuse the King, which would keep her from marrying the young prince at least. But the great Beneforts surely would not be called here for no reason? Hours had passed whilst she cycled through the possibilities in her head that surely the sun would rise in only a couple of hours. _Enough_ she thought, sitting up and huffing in frustration.

She dropped her head in her hands, scrunching her hair in frustration. Everything was about to change. It was then that her door creaked, her eyes darting up to the dim light seeping through the door. A tall dark figure crept in after it and closed the door slowly behind them. Arabelle couldn't make out the face in the dark, but she had only one guess as to whom it was. She pulled some furs up to cover herself as her squinting eyes followed the figure. "I thought you'd be asleep." His voice was barely audible, a hint of disappointment in his tone. Arabelle stumbled; she wasn't sure what to say. "It is fairly wracking on the nerves that the King will be here tomorrow."

He approached the bed and sat next to her, their hands finding each other amongst the furs covering her bed. Arabelle smiled softly, leaning over to him and running a hand under his shirt, tracing the firm lines of his stomach. After a few seconds Jon took her wrist, lowering it. "No, Arabelle." Although just a whisper it was firm and made her cheeks redden. "S…sorry." She took her hand back, covering herself once more. "No.. Ari. Not like that."

He sighed heavily, trying to find her eyes in what little light the moon provided. "You'll one day marry some great lord, worthy of your name and you will give him your virtue. Not some bastard of the North." She could hear the sadness in his voice, a sadness she soon felt build up in her throat. "Jon…"

"I have no future, no title. Hells, if someone caught me here I'd have my head taken for your honour." He spat, but she knew it was not directed at her. He was directing it at himself. "Jon, please." She pulled him close to her and took his face in her hands, "You are so, so much more than a bastard." A stray tear fell down his cheek as he closed his eyes, bringing his hand to touch her own. "Don't let people define you as such just for circumstance of your birth. You are strong, kind and you have that damned Stark honour. You are so much more than a Northern bastard."

He leant in to her, stealing a kiss. His lips met hers with an intensity she had not felt before, a desperate passion trying to light itself. His lips parted hers and they fell back on to the bed, the furs pushing back to exposing Arabelle's form underneath. His eyes fell to her breasts, his hands soon following suit. _No_, he thought. He pulled back, sitting back up abruptly. "Ari…" he whispered, dropping his head between his legs. She sat up, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"I wish I could be more for you."

* * *

The King had arrived some hours after the sun had risen and immediately insisted that he go to the crypts beneath the castle to pay his respects to Ned's late, sister. Lady Lyanna. "We're been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait." The fair-haired Queen had protested half-heartedly, her eyes held some measure of displeasure at her husband's decision. He had waved her off and left the royal party almost immediately. Robert was not as Arabelle had remembered as a child. The years had not been kind to him, she had thought, his black hair was greying at the sides and his beard looked quite unkempt, as well as a belly that could almost rival a barrel in size. He had departed with his brothers of heart to the crypts, leaving each family without their patriarch to settle in.

Arabelle had plaited her hair for the occasion, and her mother had even managed to get her in to a dress. She had been stopped many times just that morn by a number of people telling her how radiant she looked. When the Beneforts and Starks had fallen in to line to greet the King, she had locked eyes with Jon fleetingly, both looking away anxiously. She wanted to stand near him, to touch his hand but she was stood so far from he, and Jon being a bastard was forced to stand behind with Theon, Lord Eddard's ward.

The King had greeted Ned and Alyn first, the three laughing together at how age had been a bitch to them all. Their wives were next; both lovingly embraced with a familiarity that Arabelle hadn't expected. And then their eldest sons, Doran and Robb. They shook hands, the King commenting on Robb's Tully hair and Doran's broad shoulders. Then, Arabelle and Sansa. The daughters. "My, you're a pretty one." He had nodded to Sansa, before turning to Arabelle. "Your little fox has grown in to a beauty, Al." He smirked, kissing her hand. "Your Grace." She curtseyed; her eyes darted to the ground. She breathed a sigh of relief as he moved on to the Stark pups.

When the King and brothers had finally left, Arabelle noticed that Jon had snuck away as soon as their fathers had. She wouldn't see him for a time, she knew. Lady Catelyn would want to hide her husbands' transgression.

"Ari?" Doran looked at her, eyebrows creased with concern. "Are you alright?" It was then that she realised she had furrowed eyebrows, and her head was darting around like a curious owl. She relaxed her face and forced a smile.

"Of course, of course. Fine."

He put his arm around her shoulders and nudged her softly, "Robb and Sansa have to give the royal children the grand tour, and mother wants us to go with them." He nodded his head towards Robb and Sansa as they greeted the crowned heir and his siblings, Sansa and the prince sharing lingering looks. Robb gestured towards the twin foxes, smiling at Arabelle as he met her eye. The young prince Joffrey smiled at her too, and it made Arabelle's skin crawl. Something about him felt off, something in his eyes. He was a little southern boy, she had figured in the brief moments since he had arrived. Coddled by his riches and title. Her stomach tightened at the thought she could be wed to him. _Surely it will be Sansa._

"Doran and Arabelle Benefort will be joining us, your Grace." Robb spoke firmly.

"Ah, good. I had hoped to meet Lord Benefort's children once more." The crown prince eyed her up and down, his eyes lingering at her waist. _Ugh._

"It is a pleasure, your Grace. My brother and I are honoured to join your personal welcoming party." She smiled, bowing her head slightly. She was damned if she couldn't put on a good act.

"Are you the twin foxes?" Came a young but curious voice from behind the prince, a young girl of maybe ten. "Quiet, Myrcella. No-one wants to hear those stupid stories." Joffrey snapped at his younger sister. His attitude repulsed her all the more. Arabelle laughed softly, in the most ladylike manner she could manage. "That's quite alright, your Grace." She bent down to meet the girl's eye, smiling at her all the while. "We are indeed, the twin foxes. Though I don't know how it makes my brother or I any more special than others."

"Mother and Uncle Jaime are twins."

"Myrcella, I don't think Lord Doran nor fair Lady Arabelle care if others are twins. So stop being such a bother and stay quiet." Joffrey spat once more.

Arabelle's smile saddened as she saw the girl's face drop. She looked to Robb, his face was neutral but she could see abhorrence in his eyes. "Well, I think we shall get on with it then. If you would follow me, your Grace." He started, nodding ahead to indicate where they were going.

Arabelle bent over before Myrcella turned, smiling at her. "I think your curiosity is wonderful, my princess." She offered her hand and the princess gladly took it. "Now, let's show you around."

* * *

After the grand tour of Winterfell, Sansa and Arabelle had been summoned to their mothers to prepare for the feast later that night. Gods only knew what the boys were up to, but no doubt they didn't have to get pretty for the King. Catelyn had been brushing Sansa's lovely auburn hair when she had told her daughter of her potential betrothal to the prince.

"So when would we be married, soon, or would we have to wait?" The girl was practically shaking with excitement, and of course it was one of the first things she had asked.

But it was all-dependent on whether Ned was to say yes to the King's offer, Catelyn had said to her daughter. "But he would be the second most powerful man in the Kingdoms! "Sansa had protested. Catelyn's face turned sour, she didn't want to lose her husband nor her daughters. But change was coming.

Marieysa had fixed her daughters braid and placed both hands on her shoulder, smiling down at her daughter.

"And that leaves the matter of your betrothed." When she spoke those words, Catelyn looked over and smiled sincerely at Arabelle. And then she knew.

"Really? Well, don't leave me waiting." Her tone was dripping with sarcasm.

Marieysa playfully hit her daughter. "My dear, that tone won't have any men chasing after you anytime soon."

Catelyn smiled and stood up as she finished Sansa's hair. "You are to marry Robb, Ari. Something I'm sure you'll be most agreeable to."

And honestly, she was. There was no way she could avoid marriage, as much as she would have liked. Realistically, this was the best option she thought. She was glad that she would be married to at the very least a dear friend, and happy to stay in the North, as close to her family as she could be. But it made her feel sick to her stomach when she thought of Jon. When he would find out… she mentally sighed. Married to his own brother. Gods watch over her when she would speak to him again.

Sansa turned around from her chair, a grin on her face. "We'll be sisters!" Catelyn approached Arabelle, and the girl stood up as Cat took both of her hands in her own. "I am so glad that it will be you, my dear. You are like a third daughter to me, and finally our families will be formally joined."

The woman was like a second mother to her too, and she felt as though she should be more excited that she wouldn't have to leave. "I am honoured, Aunt Cat. I will do my best to be worthy of your son."

The first hour of the feast had been a formal affair, the noble and royal families sharing a table whilst the remainder of the hall had been silent. Arabelle was sat next to Sansa and Arya, listening to Sansa wail on about her betrothed and her future as the Queen. Arya would often mock her and Arabelle had to stifle her laughter, telling the little wolf to show more respect while seated amongst the royal family.

And then after that hour, the families had spread to take their seats among their people, Sansa finding herself with Jeyne Poole, both excitedly talking of her future and Arya sitting amongst the guards, bothering them with all sorts of questions about warfare, Arabelle had figured.

Arabelle had wanted to sit with her father, but he had quickly disappeared and her mother was sat with Catelyn and the Queen. She found herself leaning against an archway, wine in hand and fingers on her lips.

She saw the King drinking, eating and fondling a kitchen maid. He was not the great King Robert of all the tales she had heard as a child. He repulsed her, juices of the meat he was eating spilling from his mouth along his beard to be licked off by the kitchenmaid.

"It's quite a grand feast."

Robb came to stand next to her, though her eyes never left the King. "What a crude man that he would disgrace his wife as such." Arabelle muttered, taking another sip of wine. "She's sitting right up there, and he's doing all of this in front of her."

"He's the King." Robb smirked, "He does what he wants."

Arabelle rolled her eyes; "If he's a King there must not be a very high standard for them."

He laughed, taking a sip of his own wine. The two stood quietly, watching and listening to the feast from their small archway. Arabelle wasn't sure what to say to him, and the wine was starting to cloud her thoughts.

"I... I assume you've heard of our betrothal." Robb broke the silence, yet as he spoke he was unable to meet her eyes.

Arabelle laughed out loud, choking slightly on her wine. "I have indeed. I'm honoured to be your bride, your future Lady Stark." She mocked a curtsey, still laughing as she leant back against the cold stone.

Robb laughed too, his laugh slowly dying off whilst his eyes never left her. "Still, I could not possibly have a more beautiful bride. I'm glad its you, Ari."

She met his eyes, bringing the wine back to her lips. He glanced away awkwardly, his eyes focusing on something else. She was light-headed and knew she probably should slow down with the wine. But she didn't.

"My Uncle Benjen is here." He smiled, his eyes following his uncle.

"How's the wall been treating him?"

"Well. I'm glad he's here."

Robb gestured towards the crowd and took her hand, leading her amongst the swaying drunk crowd to a table just below the Queen's prying eyes, sitting down next to Theon. The Ironman smirked at her as she sat down."So, Benefort, I hear you're to be a Stark soon."

She rolled her eyes.

"Shut it, Greyjoy." Robb glared at him, the look in his eyes fierce.

"Something you'll never achieve." She muttered, bringing the wine to her lips once more.

"Well, Stark. You're lucky. You'll get to spread the legs of the Blue Fox, a winter rose. Hundreds will envy you."

Robb's glare intensified. "Don't talk about her like that."

Arabelle laughed, placing her hand on Robb's shoulder in an attempt to calm him. "And I take it you, Greyjoy, are one of the hundreds in envy?" She squeezed Robb's shoulder. Theon was such a stirrer; Arabelle thought she might as well dub him 'the spoon.'

Just as Theon was about to bark back, Arya flung a spoon full of soup at her elder sister, sending their end of the hall in to a laughing fit. Robb forgot the tension of a few seconds ago and laughed loudly, his smile lighting up his face.

"Arya!" Sansa screamed in horror, turning to her friend Jeyne and bursting in to tears.

In the midst of laughing, Robb had glanced at his mother only to get shot a look that said 'sort it out.' Robb stood up and picked up his sister, setting her down and pushing her towards the doors to the hall. "Time for bed."

Arabelle was drunk, she knew. Her head was slowly spinning, and she knew she too should be retiring to her quarters. She pushed herself off the table, getting up to follow Robb and Arya out before stumbling slightly as she caught her leg along the bench on which she had sat.

"Easy, Benefort. He didn't mean you."


	5. Chapter 5 - Hunt

**A/N: Is it me or do you never notice how drunk you actually are until you go to the toilet and you're alone. And the sober voice in your head that's kind of trapped? Weird, right? Anyway enjoy a drunk Arabelle in this chapter, loosely based on my drunk-alter ego. I call people dingy moist acorns and just really bad insults and I love people and stuff so yeah! Enjoy and review and everything, I love you guys! ~I'm also procrastinating~**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE - HUNT**

* * *

"What's wrong with Arabelle?" Arya asked, her eyebrows rose as the youngest Benefort daughter was laughing manically, draped along her betrothed's shoulders.

"Nothing, she's just a little... tired." Robb hurried to make an excuse, getting a better grip on the girl's waist.

"What's wrong with you?" Arabelle smirked sloppily. She hadn't realised how drunk she was until she left the hall.

"Is she drunk?"

"Alright, alright." Robb muttered, stopping outside of his sister's room. "We're here now Arya. Now go to bed, or I'll send Septa Mordane after you." He threatened with a sweet smile, nudging his sister off into her room. Arya rolled her eyes, treading in to her room slowly. "You don't have to tell me twice."

When he door closed Robb turned Arabelle in the direction they had came, backtracking to a staircase up to the Benefort girl's quarters. "Robb, why are you so good to me?" She giggled, her face resting on the crook between his shoulder and neck. He smiled, glancing at her mess of hair. "How do you mean, Ari? You've walked me back to my chambers many a time when I've been in your current state." Arabelle slung her free arm around his waist and laughed, some of her hair getting caught in her mouth. "I'm glad it's you I'm going to wed." She mumbled, hugging him tightly.

"Alright, you need to go to bed." He opened the door to her chambers, helping her through the door and over to her bed. He crouched down in front of her, smirking up at her as he glanced at the door.

"You'll be alright now, won't you?"

"Fine, I'm _fine."_ She rolled her eyes, gesturing to the door. "Go off and enjoy the feast, tell Theon he's a moist loaf of bread."

"A moist loaf of bread?" His smile spread to his ears, a chuckle escaping his throat.

"A moist loaf of bread!" She shouted, gesturing more aggressively to the door.

"If you insist, my lady." He stood up and bowed. "A moist loaf of bread!" He shouted as he walked to the door. He closed the creaky door, and Arabelle could hear him laughing even as he walked down the hallway.

Arabelle fell back on to her bed, the room spinning when she lay down. It was so hot in here. Why was it so hot? She clawed at her dress, trying to find and undo all the straps.

She heard her door creak open once more accompanied with light footsteps. "Robb, I'm _fine._ I promise." She groaned, curling up in to a ball on the bed.

"You're to marry Robb?" Jon stood near her bed, his curly black head looking to his feet. _Oh gods, not while I'm like this. _"Jon!" She shouted, sitting up to grab his hand and pull him down with her.

"Quiet, do you want me to be found in here?" His tone was sharp and he had stopped her before he had fallen with her, having snatched her wrist and pulling her forward. Arabelle shook her head, a shame in her that she likened to being told off as a child.

"Are you to marry Robb?"

She felt his eyes burning her as she nodded.

His heart felt like it had stopped in that moment. Married to his brother. Could the Gods possibly be any more cruel? She would birth the Stark heirs while he sat on the damned wall, celibate with no room for affections in his life. The Gods certainly had a strange sense of humour. Hells, he was so angry. His fists were clenched and his cheeks burning. Jon hadn't asked to be born a bastard. He was older than Robb by a few months, too. It could've been him marrying her. It could've been him. She had started sobbing in his silence, dropping her head into her hands.

"I didn't ask for this." She cried, curling back up onto the bed.

Neither had he. He sighed and sat down next to her, placing a hand on her hip as her body wracked with sobs. He'd never realised how much he had come to care for her in their short time together. He wasn't mad at her. It wasn't her fault that she was so damned brilliant. He just wished they lived in a kinder world, one where a lady wouldn't be condemned if she fell in love with a bastard. Jon sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. In a few weeks he would be gone, taking the black. His life would be the wall, and really he didn't know the next time he would see her. Or if he would ever see her again.

Arabelle started clawing at her clothes once more, choking on tears and muttering something about how hot it was under her breath.

"Sit up." He said, helping her up. He went to her back and gathered her hair, placing it over her shoulder before untying the dress's straps.

"Pull it off." He walked over to the trunk that had arrived only days before, pulling from it a lighter bed gown. When he had come back she was still struggling to pull it off, so he took it upon himself to undress her. Jon pulled the soft dress from her, exposing her form underneath as he did so. He threw the dress on the end of the bed and grabbed the bed gown, making her put her arms up as he pulled it over her. He even made sure she got under the covers, pulling the warm furs over her after he had slid her in to her bed.

"Now go to sleep, Ari." He whispered, stroking her hair.

"I wanted you." She muttered sleepily, gathering more furs over herself.

* * *

She had awoke with a dull ache in her head, her mother coming in with a voice far too loud for such an early hour. Arabelle looked down at herself and had not remembered when she had gotten out of her dress. She barely remembered getting to bed, only that Robb had brought her back to her chambers. Did Jon come to her? Or was that just a dream… "You'll have to come now, the ladies must farewell their husbands and those that are soon-to-be." She had pulled a beautiful navy dress from the trunk at the end of her bed, it's seafoam-green underskirt exposed by a window at the front of the dress.

"You disappeared from the feast early last night. Last I saw you followed Robb and Arya." Though her mother was facing away, Arabelle could picture her mother's brow perk up.

"I was sick. He helped me to my chambers after having put the little wolf to bed."

Marieysa's eyes were judging, placing the dress next to her daughter on the bed. "Not before you are wed, dearest daughter. People will begin to talk. You're lucky everyone was either too drunk or disoriented that they did not notice you."

"You noticed me."

"I will always notice you. I'm your mother."

She had changed in to the colours of her house, a beautiful dress that fit her form perfectly. Her mother had led her to the courtyard where waited Catelyn and Sansa, bidding their farewells. Arabelle noticed that the King was nearby and yet the Queen was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they already said their farewells. Robb was speaking to Alyn for the first time since their marriage had been agreed. Her father would kill a man who even looked at Arabelle the wrong way, but he had a deep admiration for the Stark heir. He was the best match there could have been for Arabelle, and her father had hidden her away from marriage for long enough. The auburn haired boy turned his head, a grin spreading across his face as his bride approached.

"My ladies." He bowed, kissing both her own and her mothers hands as he greeted them. "Come to see us off?"

"It is our womanly duty." Arabelle retorted sarcastically, locking eyes with her mother briefly only to be shot a warning look from her mother.

"I'm delighted you thought me worth your time to wake from your sleep. How are you feeling this morn?" He smirked at her, knowing she'd be suffering from last night.

"Some tea and bread and I'm sure that I'll feel well later." She smiled.

"I ordered some sweet cakes be made for you when you awoke, love." Her father smiled at her, his arm around his darling wife's waist. She loved that about her father, he was always spoiling her. It suddenly hit her that she would be staying at Winterfell whilst her family would return to the Nightfort. Regardless of how close the two holds were, it wouldn't be the same. She was so close to her father, and to know that he wouldn't be there with sweet cakes in the morn made her sad.

"You have my gratitude, my lord father."

"Oh, don't you start." He let go of his wife's waist and drew his daughter into his arms, holding her close. "The hunt will only be a few days, love." Arabelle took in that familiar smell of her father. "I pray you don't get disembowelled by a wolf." She smirked. Her father understood her humour. He very well should, too. His daughter was so alike to him.

"I pray I do, just to spite you my dear." He smirked, outstretching his arm to bring her mother in to their hug. "These two women I value more than anything else in the entirety of Westeros, Stark." He nodded to Robb. "And I am trusting you with the care of one. Do not let me down, my boy."

Alyn let go of his daughter, and she turned around to face the one she would be wed to. "I promise you I will not, Lord Benefort." Her parents turned away, smiling, off to join Ned and Cat in conversation.

"He'll hold you to that." She smirked up at him.

"Gods, but your father can be a very frightening man. I would never dare cross him."

"That would be wise."

Robb threw his head back in laughter, his teeth so perfect and eyes lit up before he looked to her hands and taking them in his own. "How are you this morning, really?"

"Fine. Really. My head might be a little sore but I am well."

"I'm glad." There was a whistle coming from the stables, and Robb looked at his lady and sighed. "The King wants a hunt, and so a hunt he shall get." Arabelle smiled. "The King wants to drink and shout for people to kill things for him." She looked down at their hands and squeezed his, smiling at him. "Be safe."

"I'm never anything but."

They embraced before he departed, following their fathers towards the stable as Doran ran out behind her, kissing her and her mothers heads and hurriedly embracing them farewell before catching up to Robb. "That damned brother of yours." Her mother laughing, draping her arm over daughter's shoulder. "Now let's get some food in to you." Arabelle smiled, interlacing her fingers with those that were grazing her shoulder and turned with her mother, before catching the dark eyes of Winterfell's bastard.

And then she remembered. How she got in to bed, how she had changed out of her dress. She wanted to smile at him, to run off with him and joke around like they had just weeks ago. But his face was grim, and he looked away from her almost as soon as he caught her eye.

"Food would be very welcome."


	6. Chapter 6 - In a Perfect World

**A/N: My grandmother is dying. Writing is distracting me from this. I want everyone to know how wonderful a person she is, and so I am writing my favourite person as Arabelle's grandmother. I hope you come to love her in future chapters. Anyway please leave some reviews to motivate me to come back to the story after I finish all of these assignments. Also I feel really embarrassed about trying to write Tyrion he's so fabulous and sassy and I just don't think I nailed it soz in advance xx**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX - IN A PERFECT WORLD**

* * *

Rain poured outside, the weather as dark and distressed as the entire castle had been in the last few hours.

Arabelle sat at Lady Catelyn's side, holding her hand as she wept while nervously looking to Maester Luwin as he examined Brann. Her eyes were red and weary, she felt as though she had cried all of her tears. She had been the one to find him, having run off with Arya to look for him earlier that day. And there they saw him, at the bottom of the broken tower. Legs sprawled in a sickly direction. Gods, she had thought he was dead. Maester Luwin looked up from the boy grimly, taking his hand to his forehead as he figured how best to relay the news.

"If he lives through two nights, then he will survive."

Catelyn's body shook with sobs, grasping with her free hand to her young son's. "Oh… Bran."

Arabelle let go of her Aunt's hand, smoothing her dress as she tried to look the Maester in the eye. "Thank you, Maester Luwin. You'll be called upon should there be any development." She walked the Maester to the door, leaving her mother to take her place as a shoulder for Catelyn's tears. She looked back at Bran before following the Maester out, closing the door behind them.

"He won't ever walk again, will he?" Her eyes met his. She had taken an interest in anatomy during her studies as a child, and from the way his legs bent when she had found him there was no doubt that he had been paralysed.

"_If_ he survives."

"I wouldn't be one to underestimate a Stark, Maester."

The Maester smiled at her sadly before bowing his head and taking his leave. Arabelle cursed and leant against the cold stone wall. It made no sense. Brann had always had a sure foot; she had remembered climbing with him just months before and he had outpaced her with balance like a cat. She wasn't sure that the day had been a dream.

And then came the Stark men, the clinking of armour and ruffling of leather warning her of their arrival before she had even seen their faces. They slowed as they approached the door, looking to Arabelle for answers.

"My son, will he survive?" Lord Eddard Stark looked to her with undoubtedly the most vulnerable expression he had ever had.

She wouldn't lie to him.

"If he survives two more nights, he may yet live." Ned pushed the door open, stopping in the hallway. "Gods… Bran." He whispered, walking to his wife's side.

Robb looked to Arabelle desperately, fear spread over his face like a white veil of snow. She took his hand, squeezing it gently. His eyes looked so tired, lines had gathered under them since she had seen him just days before. They aged him far beyond his twenty years. "Four days away and my brother lies on his deathbed." His eyebrows were creased, his eyes lost behind her.

"He's not dead." Arabelle's thumb traced along the top of his hand absent-mindedly as she lost her eyes in one of the many cracks between the cobbled stone of the castle. "Do not despair yet, Stark."

* * *

"How is he?" Jon asked quietly, making a point of standing feet almost as far from Arabelle as he could.

"If he survives two nights he will live." Each time she said it she felt number than before. It could not possibly be true that Brann's life was hanging by a thread. That his eyes may never open again. Gods, she felt her numbness gathering in her throat.

Jon didn't look at her. Instead he looked to his feet, trying to absorb what she had told him.

"I wish I could take you to him… but I cannot imagine Lady Catelyn leaving her son's side for even a second."

"She's always hated me." He muttered.

"She hates what you represent to her, Jon. Not you." She took a few steps toward him, not wanting to scare him off like a timid stray cat.

"How is that any different? She'll always treat me like fucking vermin."

It was no excuse for how she had treated the Snow boy over the years. Theon was a saint in comparison to Jon in Lady Stark's perspective. But it was hard to understand how hard it would have been to be waiting with an heir to present to your husband only for him to return from war with a bastard.

"I'm going to take the black." Words that pierced her heart.

"Jon…"

"No, Arabelle. I'm a bastard. I can't make anything of myself stuck in Winterfell. But I can go to the wall, I can protect the realm like those of the Night's Watch have for thousands of years."

"Jon-"

"And I'm not going to bloody well sit on my arse here and watch you marry him. My brother. I can't. I can't watch you birth his damn children knowing that you were in my arms first."

"For fucks sake, Jon! Let me bloody speak!" She spat, taking a step closer to him and trying to meet his eyes.

"I was going to say that I am proud of you. It is what you want; it is what is best for you. As my marrying Robb is best for me. I was born in to this ludicrous aristocracy and I could be married off to any royal lord my father deemed our name worthy of, but instead I am giving my hand to a friend. I want the best for you, as I want you to want the best for me."

She placed her hand on his face. He tried to avoid her eyes, but she pushed his face so he had to look at her. "It might not be what we want. But it's what must be."

Their eyes locked for moments, so many things left unsaid. And then his lips crashed upon hers; taking all of her in with every desperate fibre of his being. His hands found the small of her back and he swore he could wrap his arms around her twice she was so small. She kissed him back just has desperately, a hand pressed against his chest and another tangling itself in his hair.

Their lips melded for what did not feel like enough time before he drew back and just held her in his arms. Arabelle closed her eyes, breathing him in as she rested her head against his chest. She smelt of flowers, Jon thought. She always had. He rested his chin on the top of her head and relished in her warmth. They both knew.

They knew this would be goodbye.

* * *

Arabelle held the tome across her chest, hugging it as she made her way through the cold courtyard of Winterfell. It was a book that most nurses had from what she knew, one which she had hoped would be as informative as those she had read back in the Nightfort. She had taken it from Maester Luwin's chambers when he had gone to check up on Brann.

She wanted to know what she could do. Lord Stark and his daughters would leave for Winterfell in a few days with the King, Lord Alyn and Doran would return to the Nightfort when they left. Her father would be acting Warden of the North, she had found out. And Doran was to prepare to be matched for marriage in the coming weeks. Marieysa had outrightly told her lord husband that she would stay by her dear friend's side whilst Brann recovered, making a specific list of goods Ms. Flynnt was to send for the ladies of House Benefort. Mostly Arabelle's things, seeing as she would be living in her betrothed's holding.

Arabelle was so lost in thought that she had almost forgotten where she was as she sat by the pools of water in the Godswood. The face of the weirwood tree cried red tears, its face oddly calming for the young fox. Her grandmother had taught her of the children of the forest and their greensight and skin-changing. Arabelle had always wanted to have something special like the sight, as her grandmother had. She smiled up at the blood-red leaves as she fondly remembered every crevice of her grandmother's face.

"Medicine, my lady? Forgive me for saying, but that is quite the unusual subject for a girl of noble birth."

The voice brought her back to the present, her head slowly lowering as she remembered she was not at home. That voice was unmistakable though, she had not even had to turn to know whom it was.

"If you have heard the rumours from court, my Lord of Lannister, you would know that I am quite the unusual lady."

She could hear a smirk as he approached her still, coming to sit beside her on the log of wood that most used as a seat. "If those rumours hold true then you are truly a rare specimen, Lady Benefort." He fiddled with a twig between his fingers before looking upon her face. "And you seem to be my favourite sort of person."

Arabelle scoffed, rolling her eyes as she brushed the cover of the tome that sat in her lap.

"Forgive me my lord, but from what I've heard dispossession of male endowment seems to be the only prerequisite for being _your_ favourite type of person."

He laughed then, short-lived but he did laugh. "Do not condemn me for saying, but if that was the prerequisite for my preferred people then I would not have such disdain for my sister." Tyrion clasped his hands, rubbing them together slowly.

"You are not a sheep, Lady Benefort. You are so delightfully different."

"Please, just Arabelle."

"As you wish, Arabelle."

The two sat in silence as Arabelle's eyes never left the tome, tracing the stitching along the spine.

"You like books?" He asked, his eyebrows raised.

She nodded, her eyes finally meeting his. "As do you, or so I've heard. Books give knowledge." He opened his mouth to speak but she spoke first. "Why have you come out here, Lord Tyrion? You Southerners do not keep the same Gods as we."

"You have peaked my curiosity, Arabelle of Benefort. I merely wanted to meet the fox that I have heard so much about." He smirked before looking to the book she held once more. "You're reading for the Stark boy, aren't you?"

"His name is Bran." She spat, her tone defensive as she glared at the Imp.

"Bran." He spoke, his eyes sympathetic as he lost his eyes in the reflecting pools by the weirwood. "Your family cares a great deal for the Starks. Never have I seen two families so fond of each other."

"Cutthroat politics do not hold any allure to Northmen. Our families have been close allies for centuries, my lord." There was silence for a while, before Arabelle felt guilt for having hissed at him about Bran.

"I want to help him. I can't help him without knowledge. He is such a bright and caring boy, he does not deserve such a fate."

Tyrion was quiet for awhile, and Arabelle noted that he seemed to be holding something back.

"He's lucky he's the son of a lord, he'll be taken good care of." She spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. He stood up, bowing his head slightly as he rose. "Lucky indeed. I will take my leave now, my lady-"

"Arabelle."

"…Arabelle. I apologise for interrupting your reading."

As he turned to leave, Arabelle felt herself soften. She had been far too abrasive as of late. "There is no need to apologise, my lord. Thank you for your time." She looked down to her feet for a moment before meeting his eyes once more.

"If I do not see you before you depart, I hope you have a safe journey, wherever you may go. You're a rare specimen, my lord."


	7. Chapter 7 - Float On

**A/N: **I would firstly like to thank you all dearly for your kind words – it's been a very tough couple of weeks, as I happen to be nearing exams. Thank you for bearing with me through this difficult time, and I've tried to make this one longer than I had originally planned it to be as thanks for your patience. I'd just like to note that I've seen many fanfics that almost rewrite scenes from the show, and I'd like to avoid rewriting the show as much as possible. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please review to let me know what you think :)

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN - FLOAT ON**

* * *

Arabelle's cheeks were burning; she could feel her skin getting moist. She didn't want to have to leave her chamber. If she left then it would mean that everything that had happened in the last few weeks was real. Her heavy linen dress felt so tight across her chest as she struggled for breath. There was a light rap at her door and she muttered her invitations inside.

"Septa says we're to be leaving now." The little wolf trotted up to the bed, jumping on it to seat herself beside the young fox holding her head in her hands.

Arabelle wiped her eyes and steadied her breathing, sitting back up to face the young Stark girl as she sat cross-legged with wide eyes examining her elder from head to toe.

"Why is your face so red?" Arya's eyes were so dark, much like her father's. She favoured her northern blood in both appearance and attitude.

Usually she would retort sarcastically and ruffle the child's hair, but her energy had been sapped from her. Arabelle would surely be married to Robb within the year and Sansa to the young prince within a few years. Knowing the infrequency in which she would be seeing the Stark girl's saddened her. Knowing the infrequency in which she would see Jon too played on her mind.

"I'll miss you, pup. It'll be awhile before you see me again."

Arya huffed and crossed her arms. "I don't want to go to King's Landing. I'll be stuck with Sansa and Jeyne and I won't be able to do _anything_ there! Septa Mordane is going to make me miserable."

"Well, if your father lets you, you can come up here and run around with Nymeria and I in the cold and mud." Arabelle smirked, wrapping her arm around the little wolf's shoulder.

"You could teach me how to use Needle!" She exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

"Forgive me, but I did not think you had any desire to learn to sew." Arabelle's head tilted, looking down at her companion in confusion.

"Needle! Jon gave me my own sword. It's skinny but he said it'd poke a man with holes."

Arabelle chuckled. That was the girl she knew. The wild wolf pup. "I suspect you would not be able to handle a broadsword. It would make you slow and more prone to be hit." Arabelle brushed some hair off the little one's face. "You're fast. That is your strength."

Moments passed before they spoke again. Arabelle was holding Arya's hand, just relishing in their last few moments together. She loved the girl like she was her own sister, stubborn though she may be.

"Arya, you've got to promise me you won't be mean to Sansa. She is your sister, and aside from your father she will be the only person you can trust down in the capital."

"Sansa's mean to me. If I breathe she doesn't like it. She's already in love with the Prince."

Arabelle sighed. If only these petty grudges could be lifted. She had heard far too many a story about estranged siblings. She did not know what she would do if she did not have Doran. She was glad they had settled their differences in the past, but what troubled her now was that Arya did not trust her sister.

"I wish I could stay home with you and Robb, Bran and Rickon. And I could visit Jon anytime I like."

"Unfortunately we don't always get what we want, pup."

Arya wrapped her arms around Arabelle's waist, holding on to her so tightly. "If I got what I wanted Bran would be okay and we could run away with you and Jon and travel the world while Robb and Sansa play lords and ladies."

Arabelle could feel her heart sink at that. She knew that Arya would never be as accepting of the life she was born in to as Arabelle had become. It had only been the last year, really, that Arabelle had come to terms with it herself. She hoped at the least that Ned would see all the little Southern lords for what they are and marry his daughter to a Northman. The little wolf belonged in the North.

"If I got what I wanted I would have already whisked you away to the Free Cities, and we'd be planning our next venture beyond the wall."

"I like the sound of that." Arya grinned up at Arabelle.

* * *

Jon smirked slightly at his brother as he placed his saddle upon his black mare.

"Next time I see you, you'll be all in black." Robb remarked, the corners of his mouth rising faintly.

"It was always my colour."

There was a brief pause, then. This would be their last time he would see his brother as just that. As brothers. He much imagined that they would be like his father and Uncle Benjen in the future, visiting once every few years, maybe even months between visits if he was lucky. However, that luck really depended on deserters and their beheadings. A grim thought. Both men's smiles faded, as they took in these last moments.

"Farewell, Snow."

"And you, Stark."

And then they embraced, something they had not done since they were children. They were men, now. They had both known that this day would come. Not necessarily in the fashion that it had occurred, but Jon's parentage always deemed a departure in his adulthood. Jon closed his eyes briefly, in his mind Robb was still that auburn-haired youth that would always save them from the trouble they would get up to.

They let go of each other, Robb's head turning to look at a woman clad in navy robes and a thick cloak, the fur around her shoulders almost up to her ears. Arabelle was grinning, her family laughing at what Jon assumed was one of Doran's stupid jokes. Arabelle's eyes met Robb's for a moment, smiling at him before focusing her gaze on the bastard boy who had held her not three days ago. Arabelle's eyes went back to her mother, her hand moving to her mother's arm as if to excuse herself.

Then she started making her way to him. She looked so clean as she waded through the Winterfell mud, a true vision of beauty. Time slowed as he watched her glide towards him. This would be how he would remember her. Her arm slid through Robb's as she reached them, smiling sweetly.

"Quite a vision Ghost will be at the Wall. Those blood red eyes will frighten all of the giants and white walkers away for certain."

He didn't know what to say really. And he knew that she didn't either, her sarcasm seemed to be her coping mechanism.

"I could not think of a better companion, myself." Robb's smile widened, his eyes surveying the albino direwolf.

"I've always wanted to stand on the wall. Standing on the edge of our world. I've always wanted to go north of the Wall, to the Land of Always-Winter." Arabelle's smile dimmed, her eyes lost and glazing over.

"It would be my honour to accompany you one day, my lady." Jon smiled, his eyes never meeting hers lest they betray his feelings.

"Always the explorer." Robb smiled down at the fox on his arm, nudging her slightly.

Arabelle snapped back, her eyes meeting Robb's fleetingly before smiling and looking to the ground. Before long he felt her eyes upon him, watching his face as he adjusted a strap on his saddle as to avoid the tension he felt building.

"I wish you the best, Jon."

He turned slightly to face her again, his hands still grasping the straps on his saddle.

"And I you, Arabelle."

* * *

She had said her farewells to the Starks, the royal party and her own family. The Queen had already retired to her carriage with her youngest children, leaving the King and his eldest along with Ned and his daughters to farewell the Benefort men. Catelyn had not come down to join them, instead staying by Bran's bedside. The King and Ned embraced Lord Alyn Benefort, saying farewell to their brother of heart.

"How you managed to raise such a fine lass as this one, Al, I'll never know." The King had groggily chuckled, kissing Arabelle's hand. He clapped Doran and Robb on their backs and ruffled little Rickon's hair. Then just like that, he had turned around with Ned, Alyn and Doran in toe to mount their horses and leave Winterfell for their .

Arabelle had spent the better part of that day playing with Rickon to distract him from the absence of his father. She had run with him on her back through the godswood, her navy blue dress now spattered with the earthy tones of mud. Rickon would run around with arms wide, pretending to be a bird, and then examined all of the rocks he could find.

"I thought I'd find you two out here." Came Theon's voice from behind them. "Over here." He yelled, gesturing behind him.

Arabelle slid the rock Rickon was showing her back in to the boys palm before pushing herself up, watching as Theon closed the distance between them.

"Raven came for you today. From Lady Elizanda Wyllsand." He handed her the message, still bound with the owl-engraved stamp of house Wyllsand. Her mother's house.

"Wonder what that old crone wants." Theon smirked. Arabelle's hands tightened in to a fist, her eyes meeting his like daggers. "Theon, stop trying to stir her up." Robb muttered, trudging through the mud to meet them.

She broke the seal and unravelled the scroll, her eyes skimming through the parchment.

_My beloved Belle,_

_I have thought of you every day since we last met. You are my only granddaughter and dearest friend. I am writing you under circumstances I wish I would not have to, but there is no one I trust more with this missive. I have had visions these last few weeks in my dreams, and I do not want to cause you alarm when I say they have disturbed me. I cannot say more until I see you, so when you receive this letter I will already have set north. _

_I wish I could say more, but until we meet, I am afraid I must be cryptic. I have also sent word to your mother that I am coming, as I understand she is to stay in Winterfell with Lady Stark._

_And I am disappointed, my child, that it was your mother who sent word of your betrothal to me and not you. _

_I wish you well, child. I am looking forward to meeting this Stark boy._

_All of my love,_

_Your Noma._

"What does it say?" Theon smirk grew more toothy. "She's had a new cane made?"

"Oh hells, Theon. You don't shut up do you?" Robb groaned, walking over to pick Rickon up and stood beside his future lady wife. "Is everything okay?"

Arabelle closed the letter and tucked it down her sleeve, smiling up at him and tapping Rickon on the nose.

"Fine, fine. Nothing is wrong."

"…But?" Robb questioned. Her tone did not betray that there was much more to the letter than that.

"My… my grandmother is coming to visit."

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think and review :)


	8. Chapter 8 - Lions Provoke Wolves

**A/N**: An even longer update as a thanks for everyones patience! Elizanda finally appears and I hope you all like her. I wrote this up quickly whilst procrastinating my last two assignments. I hope you enjoy, please leave some reviews and let me know what you think!

* * *

**CHAPTER 8 - LIONS PROVOKE WOLVES**

* * *

She saw Robb pacing in the shadows, his hand to his forehead and his breathing slow. He sighed in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair, gripping at it. He was roaming not far from Bran's room, so it did not take much for Arabelle to piece it all together. The royal party had left and in their wake were large fee's for the all of the extravagancies thrown for their visit. The Poole's had gone south with Ned and the girls, leaving the bills for Catelyn to manage. However, Catelyn had not left her young son's side for more than an hour at a time.

"Is everything okay, my lord?" Arabelle approached from the dark corner she had perched herself in.

Robb flinched slightly in shock, one arm dropping to his side whilst the other hovered still over his head. "Oh, Gods. You've taken me by surprise, Benefort."

Arabelle smirked slightly as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ears. She'd always been able to manipulate the darkness, oft the winner of any hiding and seeking games as a child. Back in the Nightfort, she was renowned for scaring the guards and servants when she would just appear out of the darkness. She had thought that in another life, perhaps she would have been a good thief.

"You'd best get used to it, my lord."

He smiled, though his eyes did not betray his inner turmoil. "I don't suppose I ever will." He met her eyes, his eyebrows creasing ever so slightly. "Please, do not call me lord. I will always be Robb to you."

"You will always be the boy with sticks in his hair and dirt on his cheek to me."

"And you will always be the girl covered in mud, following me and mine around the castle."

"Well it was either you lot or babies."

Robb chuckled, his laughter dying out as the moment dragged on. His eyes grew sad once more, looking to the door that separated them from a crippled child and his mother.

"What troubles you?" Arabelle's brows furrowed and she took Robb's hand in to her own, covering his hand with both of hers.

Robb's eyes flickered around and he swallowed, looking to his feet. "She's barely left his side since it happened. There is already a new moon. It's like she's in a trance and it won't be broken until Bran wakes." He looked her in the eyes. "She's abandoned her own duties, as a mother and as Lady of Winterfell. You know this; Rickon follows either of us day and night and cries for his family. She can't keep at this."

Arabelle looked to their hands, caressing his with her thumb as she listened to him. She could understand his frustration; he had suddenly been left with the responsibility of the entire castle in just a week, unsupervised. Sure, he had been taught basic noble duties but it was the first time he had held the castle as lord.

"I know, Robb. I know." She looked up from their hands and tried to meet his eyes, her brows creased with concern. "But it is difficult to understand what she feels, watching her little boy lie helplessly, his fate determined by the Gods. Everyone copes with grief differently." Arabelle nodded in the general direction that the guest chambers were. "My mother is here to care for Cat. If you need assistance with the costs of the royal visit, consult with her. She can teach you. Nevertheless, as far as other appointments go, you are the Lord of Winterfell. You must keep them." She dropped the hand that lay on top of his and squeezed with her other. "You have me. I will do what I can to help."

Robb sighed and squeezed her hand in return, his eyes watching their hands. "When did you become such a lady?" The corners of his mouth curled slightly before he lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing it softly. "I'll go speak with her." Arabelle smiled. "I'll be waiting."

Footsteps echoed down the halls as Maester Luwin approached, his hands crossed and finding solace in each of his sleeves. His expression was plain as he approached the young couple, stopping next to Robb. Arabelle's hand untied itself from Robb's as she smiled politely at the Maester.

"I've come to speak with your lady mother, my lord." The Maester bowed his head slightly, gesturing towards Bran's door.

"I'll join you soon." Robb replied, nodding his approval to the Maester.

Maester Luwin bowed once more before pushing open the heavy wooden door.

Robb sighed, running a hand through his auburn hair whilst the other met his hip. "I do hope you'll wish me luck in there." He smirked ever so slightly.

Arabelle smirked brushing a stubborn lock of hair once more behind her ear. "Good luck. And after I'll have you escort me to the kitchens so we can stuff our bellies with all sorts of sweets." Robb laughed as he dropped his arms to his side, stepping towards the door. "I quite like the sound of that."

She stood there for a few minutes in silence, the only noise she heard were those of the three direwolves howling every now and again. She leant against the cold cobbled stone, her thoughts drowning out the direwolve's wails. The door creaked open and Maester Luwin crept out, bowing his head to Arabelle as he went on his way down the cold and dark halls. Then Robb came running out, grasping Arabelle by the shoulders.

"Fire, there's a fire! You stay here, I'll come back!" He bounded down the dark stairs, and Arabelle ran just meters to the end of the hall, peering out the small window. The wolves were growing louder by the second, though Arabelle swore she could only hear two rather than the three she would expect.

Arabelle ran her fingers through her hair, gripping at it and grunting as she bent over, falling down to sit against the stone. She had been repressing every single memory she had of Jon, yet at some moments when she touched Robb she felt guilty. Gods knew that it would take a lot of time and a lot of wine for her to move on. Robb was so noble, one of the most genuine of any great lord or lady she had ever met. He was honourable to a fault, Arabelle was not truly sure that she had ever seen him betray that honour. Though Jon too had inherited it from their lord father, she knew that he had drawn a line. A line that he wasn't afraid to cross.

Arabelle perked up as she heard the grunts and many footsteps of what could only be one of the wolf pups, and from Bran's room she heard a loud slamming noise of what she assumed was furniture. "What in the hells?" She said, pushing herself up as Summer leaped up the stairs, not even looking to acknowledge the Benefort girl. Arabelle ran to the heavy wooden door with the wolf, Summer nudging the corner of the door as to make his way in. She pushed the damned thing open with all her might and almost fell in to the room as the door opened.

Catelyn was sprawled on the floor, her hands bloodied and face moulded with shock. A man clad in grey chains and dark leathers stood over her with a dagger in hand, looking from her to the young wolf boy asleep in his bed. Summer ran in almost instantly and jumped at the man, tearing at his throat in the time it had taken Arabelle to bend and draw the small dagger she kept strapped in her boot.

Arabelle ran to Catelyn, holding her by the arms as Summer ripped out the throat of the stranger, his body writhing around in a desperate attempt to throw the wolf from him. Through just a quick glance, she could see that Catelyn's hands had been cut to the bone.

The stranger's movements had stopped, his hand falling limp to his side. Catelyn and Arabelle looked on in shock as Summer smacked his snout and jumped on to the bed, lying next to Bran protectively and whimpering.

"You were right... my lady. Bran did not fall."

* * *

Lady Elizanda Wyllsand had strolled through the gates just before dawn, accompanied only by the captain of the Wyllsand house guard and Arabelle's two cousins, Mathis and Alerie. Marieysa had woken Arabelle just minutes before, rushing her out in to the courtyard to greet her family. She had gone to bed only an hour or two before, having spent hours in the larder with Robb. He had gone to speak with Ser Rodrick after the assassination attempt, posting more guards in the castle and more intense searches as people entered Winterfell. Hours later, so late at night in fact that the kitchens had been abandoned, they had stationed themselves with left-over desert and had talked about everything, from their families to childhood to the Free Cities and beyond. Robb couldn't stop smiling the entire night, his grin was contagious. It felt good that she could make him smile in what had been such a dark time.

Arabelle had fallen asleep in the same leathers she had worn the day before, her appearance looking more like a soldier off-duty than a noble lady, so she threw her coat around her and brushed her hair with her fingers before leaving her room. As she came to the courtyard she saw Robb, his coat concealing what she assumed was what he had been wearing just hours before too. She fell in line with him and Marieysa, Catelyn still staying in her son's quarters.

"I had not expected your grandmother to arrive at such an early hour." Robb smirked, though she could tell he was somewhat annoyed at having been awakened so early.

"She always makes quite the entrance." Marieysa rolled her eyes, brushing through her shoulder-length blonde hair with her fingers and ruffling it slightly at her roots. "Common courtesy isn't a strong suite of my mother's, unfortunately."

Robb chuckled and threw his arm around Arabelle's shoulder as she approached, drawing her in close to his side. "How are you feeling?" He looked down at her concerned. She was still somewhat shaken from last night, the realisation that Bran had not truly fallen. Why would someone want him dead if he had fallen?

In truth, she had been feeling uneasy until a few minutes ago. Her grandmother would not have travelled had her visions not been dire. Though she was glad to be seeing her family again, it was worrying the circumstances under which they would meet. Elizanda entered first, her long silver-grey hair peaking out under her hood in a long plait. Her white mare slowed their approach, the other's horses following suit. Arabelle rushed over to help her grandmother off her horse, taking her hand and holding the reigns of her mare.

"Oh Belle you really mustn't, I may be old but I am not yet decrepit." Elizanda muttered as she took her granddaughter's hand, sliding herself off her horse.

"She says as she grips my hand for dear life." Mathis and Marieysa laughed, the quiet Alerie managing a smirk. Robb's face remained neutral, so as not to offend the great Elizanda Wyllsand, Arabelle presumed.

"And she insisted we come at this ungodly hour." Mathis laughed, moving over to greet his cousin. "Ari." He grinned, hugging his cousin tightly.

"I do not envy you the pleasure of having travelled with dearest Noma." Arabelle smirked, holding her cousin close. "It is good to see you, cousins."

"Is it not good to see me?" Elizanda barked, outstretching her arms to invite Arabelle to hug her. Arabelle brought a finger to her chin and mocked hesitation before a grin spread across her face and she hugged her grandmother tightly. Arabelle witnessed Marieysa greeting her niece and nephew over her grandmother's shoulder, closing her eyes shortly as she breathed in that familiar scent of roses.

Elizanda's eyes set upon the young man standing behind her granddaughter, his left hand grabbing his wrist and standing tall. He was smiling politely at the family reunion but his smile receded as he met eyes with the old lady Wyllsand. Her golden eyes were piercing, much like the owl of the Wyllsand crest. "And what do we have here?"

She let go of her granddaughter, slowly approaching the tall auburn-haired man. Arabelle quickly came to Robb's side, standing almost between her grandmother and her betrothed.

"My lady." He bowed deeply, taking the old woman's wrinkled hand and kissing it softly before rising again to meet her eyes. "It is my honour-"

"Don't bother with the act, my child." Elizanda smirked, still staring the boy directly in the eyes.

"You are Robb Stark, heir apparent to Winterfell. This is Winterfell. It is your honour as current Lord of Winterfell to welcome me to your home, wonderful."

"It is my honour to meet you, Lady Wyllsand, as it is my honour to meet someone who my lady cherishes so dearly. I was meaning to say that I can now see where the lovely ladies of Benefort received their beauty, but now I also see where they get their smarts and wit."

Elizanda paused, eyeing the Stark boy curiously. She leant in to her granddaughter, her eyes never leaving Robb's. "This one. I like this one."

* * *

"I have seen terrible things, my dear. Terribly vague, but terrible nonetheless." Elizanda leant over to reach for her mug of boiled herbs, leaves dancing around as the water moved. "Of the many things I have seen, I must say that you are an anomaly, my dear."

"An anomaly?" Arabelle asked, holding her warm mug between her hands.

"You are always hooded. You seem to be the only person aware that I am watching. Perhaps because I am about to tell you, that you would know in the future."

Elizanda sipped at her tea before looking to her granddaughter. "I have seen a stag disembowelled by a lion, a family of lions. Lions provoking wolves. I fear for your safety here, dearest one."

Arabelle brought her mug to her lap, her eyes following the leaves as they bounced around the mug. "You have a menagerie inside your mind, it appears."

"Arabelle Benefort, you know damn well of what I speak. I saw a fox with navy fur running south."

"A Benefort going south? It is not unheard of, Noma."

"One step below the trident and it is the lion's den. What I have seen, whilst cryptic, you have always had a vital part to play." Elizanda leaned over to take her granddaughters hand. "I fear there is nothing I can do to prevent what is to come. That lies with you, dear one."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You will be like me, dearest. Though, I am no greenseer. I-"

Heels clicking upon stone broke the silence that had ensued, Elizanda's gaze leaving her Belle to meet the incessant clicker of heel. "Arabelle, I would speak with you." Lady Catelyn Stark stood at the door of the chamber, her hands hiding in either sleeve. "Greetings, Lady Wyllsand. A pleasure." She spoke nonchalantly.

"I…" Arabelle placed the mug on the small table by her side, standing and brushing the dirt from her linen pants. "I am sorry, my lady, I am quite busy." It seems Lady Stark had lost her manners along with her sense, Arabelle thought.

"Nonsense, my dear, you go speak with our Lady host. I will be here when you return." Elizanda smiled and raised her mug as her approval.

Arabelle smiled slightly and walked towards Catelyn, gesturing for the lady to walk in front of her. "It's good to see you walking around, my lady." She smiled, placing a hand on her future mother in law's back. "What can I be of assistance with?"

Catelyn's face did not move, her eyes focused ahead with such purpose. "I would walk with you, and talk about what happened last night." Arabelle's expression grew grim, throwing her head back and followed Lady Stark silently.

It was difficult to make conversation with Catelyn, he eyes never straying from her path. She was not her usual self, her skin was pale and though it seemed that she had finally washed what was oil-drenched hair, her exhaustion was betrayed by lines gathering under her eyes. Arabelle had never seen Catelyn like this, she usually played a doting aunt to her.

After what Arabelle had assumed was half of an hour of walking, the two stood before the broken tower. Arabelle's eyes flicked to where she and Arya had found Bran weeks ago, his broken body burned in to her mind. "I was going to come later, with Robb." Arabelle said, following Catelyn through to the shambled stone frame of what used to be a door. "I did not believe Bran had fallen. No one believed that Bran had fallen. He wouldn't have had an attempt on his life had he fallen. No, he saw something, someone, that he wasn't supposed to have seen."Catelyn's voice was monotonous, her brows furrowed with a purpose in her eyes.

Arabelle followed Catelyn up the winding stairs, coming out on to the floor in which they assumed he had fallen from. Any higher and he would surely have been killed. Arabelle stood at the window of the room, her fingers tracing the vines covering the frame; an area of at least three inches on the outside vines had been stripped of any green. "Arabelle…" Catelyn spoke, Arabelle's head looking over to her companion. Catelyn rose slowly, turning and holding something so fine that Arabelle could not even see it herself.

She took a few steps to Catelyn, seeing that she was holding a hair. A long, fair hair. Arabelle stretched it between her two hands from root to tip; to be sure her eyes were not playing tricks. Her grandmothers words ran circles in her mind. "Lions provoking wolves."


	9. Chapter 9 - South

**A/N**: Literally two chapters after I say I won't rewrite a scene… I go and rewrite a scene. My aim is to have more OC-centric scenes as I still follow the canon just with an added character. I didn't really see any other way to do it, as I believe that Arabelle having been with Catelyn for both the assassination attempt and revelation of the blonde hair that she deserved to be at that small meet. So here you go, please don't hate me! I have the next chapter written up so the more reviews you leave the sooner I will post it :) Enjoy!

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE - SOUTH**

* * *

The tall trees and their leaves left the forest dark even in the midst of day, the wide bodies of the trees usually splitting in two or three and sprawling in different directions. They were beautiful, Arabelle thought. Each one never alike to another. The weirwood stood out like a sore thumb, its snow-white bark a stark contrast to the earthy brown and green tones that surrounded it. The blood-red leaves against the white reminded her of Ghost. And then Jon. She had not received any word of Jon in the weeks since he had left. She only hoped that the fabled Night's Watch was everything he hoped.

Arabelle stood in her leathers, an outfit she felt most comfortable in. No one would think a woman to wear linen breeches rather than a skirt, especially not a lady. She drew her cloak over her shoulders, the fur collar brushing her ears softly.

"What's all this then?" Ser Rodrik approached, his white-grey whiskers tied below his chin and bobbed with his every step. His shoulders were broad and his face stern, lips thin and eyebrows seemingly always scowling. Though an old man, Arabelle would pity any fool who would challenge the old Master-at-Arms.

"Lady Catelyn is further in to the wood, behind the weirwood tree." Arabelle's voice was soft as she gestured beyond the weirwood, inviting Rodrik to step first.

"I am almost hesitant to ask what is wrong, my lady." The whiskered man spoke, his eyebrows still not letting up. "It is not oft I am called away to the middle of the woods for a meet."

"Then that is almost impeccable luck, Ser. I fear you are right that the circumstance of this meet is foreboding, though I would not speak before Lady Stark addresses us."

They walked for only a minute or two, and Arabelle was concerned that they were still too close to the castle. Though the godswood was a good walk from the castle, was it far enough that their whispers would not travel?

The twosome approached the four figures, Lady Catelyn standing on higher ground near a moss-covered rock, Maester Luwin by her side. Robb stood just below her, Theon on lower ground than him. Rodrik fell next to the Maester as they arrived, Theon shuffled at the least to allow Arabelle to fall in line with her betrothed. She did not meet Catelyn's eye, instead looking to the ground and wrapping her arms around Robb's own. Robb placed the hand of his free arm on Arabelle's gently, squeezing it with reassurance.

"Everyone is here now, mother. What have you to say to us outside the castle walls?"

Catelyn swallowed hard, looking to her feet before lifting her gaze back to the group before her. "What I am about to tell you must remain between us." She met Arabelle's eyes, pausing momentarily. "I don't think Bran fell from that tower. I think he was thrown." Her eyes scanned the five before her.

"The boy was always sure-footed before." Maester Luwin looked to Rodrik, whispering audibly enough for the rest to hear.

"Someone tried to kill him twice, Why? Why murder an innocent child?" Catelyn continued, her eyes once more meeting Arabelle's.

"We think he saw something he was not supposed to. Lady Stark said that when the assassin came to Bran, he said that she was not supposed to be there. It was for Bran." Arabelle's eyes could not meet the others, her grip on Robb's arm tightening.

"And just what would he have seen?" Theon asked, his face for once not twisted mischievously. He was genuinely perplexed.

"I don't know." Catelyn sighed, her eyes staring somewhere between Rodrik and Theon. "But I'd stake my life the Lannister's are behind it. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the crown."

"Did you notice the dagger the killer used?" Rodrik spoke, pulling the dagger from his belt. "It's too fine a weapon for such a man." He unsheathed the weapon, showing the group the silvered blade.

"Valyrian steel. A rare blade. Incredibly so. Either it's an heirloom or it was melted down from one." Arabelle spoke, her eyes focused on a rock by Maester Luwin's feet.

"They come in to our home.. and try to murder my brother. If it's war they want.." Robb's tone was icy, his anger meeting a head. Arabelle loosed her grip on his arms, sliding a hand down to hold his.

"If it comes to that you know I'll stand behind you." Theon stood forward, eyes set firmly on Robb.

"What? Is there to be a battle in the godswood?" The Maester's brows rose, questionably, his tone drenched in mockery. "Too easily words of war bring about acts of war. We do not know the truth yet."

"The Lannister's are the real power behind the thrown. Robert is a whoring drunkard, who do you think really rules the Seven Kingdoms?" Arabelle looked up to Robb, gripping his hand tightly. "Your father and sisters are in their grasp. Do not do something you would regret, my love." Robb looked to her and sighed, squeezing her hand gently in return.

Arabelle's thoughts drifted to Tyrion. To the day, he had followed her to the weirwood tree, just yards from where they stood now. When she had mentioned Bran, he met her with a silence, a look that betrayed his own thoughts. She had admired the dwarf; his intelligence and sarcastic demeanour intrigued her. Part of her hoped very dearly that this was not the work of Lannisters, or that at the very least the Imp was not involved.

"Lord Stark must be told of this." The Maester looked to Catelyn, the lines on his foreheads deepening.

"I don't trust a raven to carry these words." Catelyn whispered, shaking her head.

"I'll ride to King's Landing." Robb volunteered, letting go of Arabelle's hand.

"No. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." His mother protested.

"Cat.. surely you won't.." Arabelle took a step forward, her eyes finally meeting that of the auburn-haired lady.

"I will go with my cousins. I have plain enough clothes and strong enough steel." Arabelle looked deeply in to Catelyn's eyes.

"No, I will not have you at any risk for my family, Ari." Arabelle turned to look Robb in the eyes, his own pleading with hers.

"I will soon be calling your family my own, Robb."

Catelyn sighed before looking to Arabelle. "Robb is right, Arabelle. You are to be wed, and should anything happen to you I would not forgive myself."

Arabelle huffed in disagreement, her eyes flickering between Catelyn and the stream behind her. "I am more than capable."

"Of that I have no doubt. But I need you in the North." Catelyn smiled and took the hand of her son's betrothed. "I have loved you were my own. But this is something I must do alone."

"Not alone. I'll send Howe and a squad of guardsman with you." Rodrik shuffled his feet, his face as stern as always.

Catelyn shook her head. "Too large a party attracts unwanted attention. I don't want the Lannisters to know I am coming."

"Let me accompany you at least. The Kingsroad is a dangerous place for a woman alone." Rodrik's eyes were pleading as Catelyn herself looked to Maester Luwin. The Maester looked to Catelyn, clearly disagreeing her plan. But he nodded his approval, Catelyn looking to Rodrik and accepting his offer.

"But what about Bran?" Robb asked. His face had slumped in defeat; he knew he would not get through to his mother.

"I have done all I have for Bran. His fate lies with the Seven now."

* * *

"It was not meant to be you, dearest one. Your place is here, for now." Elizanda smiled softly, holding her granddaughters hand across the parlour table.

Arabelle smacked her dry lips, looking to the hand that interlocked with her own. "I would not wish Lady Stark to be exposed on the Kingsroad. I travel swiftly and quietly. I fear for her safety." It had been two weeks since Catelyn had left with Ser Rodrik, Alerie left with Mathias the morning after saying they had not intended to stay for long, leaving their grandmother with her captain of the guard. They had said their goodbyes to their cousin, remarking on how much she had grown. Arabelle and Doran were the youngest of their cousins by at least eight years, oft getting such comments.

Lady Wyllsand's golden eyes looked up at her granddaughter, wisps of grey hair falling over her face. "It is what must be." She brought her other hand to cover her granddaughters, mindlessly caressing it as her eyes glazed over. "I sent Alerie to follow them. She is much as quiet as you and knows the Kingsroad well."

"I do not wish to deceive the mother of my betrothed." Arabelle muttered, staring at the hands that enveloped her own.

Elizanda tutted, smiling subtly. "Not deceit. Think of it as help."

She hesitated before sighing and nodding her agreement. It would be good to have eyes and ears in the south. At the very least, if anything happened Arabelle would receive word. The Stark girls were in the lion's den. She could only help but pray that Lord Stark could protect his girls.

"I know about the bastard boy." Elizanda whispered, her eyes never lifting from her hands.

Arabelle's gaze shot up to her grandmother, her eyes wide and ears tingling. "Noma, I promise you I didn't-" Elizanda hushed, brushing the hand she held in hers. "I know, child. I know."

Arabelle's cheeks were burning, a flush beginning to spread over her. She did not know what to say. "Did you love him?"

And for the life of her, she did not know. She cared for Jon deeply despite not having had much time with him, but was it love? She did not believe herself so naïve as to confuse care and love. "I felt strongly for him." She whispered her hand limp as it was caressed with the soft wrinkled hands of Elizanda.

"Sometimes I think you are far older than your eighteen years, child." She smirked, looking Arabelle in the eyes. "Too smart for your own good."

Arabelle averted her gaze, looking to their hands once more. Her cheeks still burned, a pang of guilt striking her. "That is the past. I know my place."

Elizanda laughed, lifting a hand to brush a piece of hair behind Arabelle's ear. "Oh, child, that I do not doubt. You are so much like your father. You know your duty, even if you do not agree with it."

"He knows his, too, Noma." She whispered, her free hand meeting her grandmother's upon her face. "You have nothing to fear."

"Oh, my sweet, sweet child. It is not that of which I fear."

"And what is it that you fear?" Arabelle asked quietly.

"I fear for the future. The demise of one of my kin, the wars that have year to happen. I fear for soldiers fighting wars they do not want a part in. I fear the north, I fear the creatures songs are sung about." She squeezed her granddaughters hands and looked in to her eyes. "I fear for you going south." After a moment, Elizanda smiled, taking back her hands and standing slowly. "We will talk more tomorrow. For now, I must retire to my quarters. Elizanda brushed down her skirts as Arabelle stood, walking over to kiss her grandmother goodnight. She pecked the old seer's cheek before walking her to the door. She looked to the fire that roared in the middle of her room as her grandmother left, the dancing orange lights flickering wildly.

"I did not expect to see you roaming around the halls so late at night, boy." Her grandmother's voice came from the hall.

"As I did not expect to see you, Lady Wyllsand. Good evening." Robb's voice echoed and Arabelle's eyes flicked from the flames to the dimly lit auburn-haired man standing over the small grey-haired grandmother of hers. A huge smile spread across his face, he was practically buzzing.

"I am so very glad the boy has awoken." Elizanda smiled warmly and reached up to tug at Robb's cheek. "This is wonderful news for your family." She nodded to him and walked off down the hall, leaving Robb staring blankly at where she had been. His eyes averted to Arabelle standing in the doorway of her chambers, smirking at him.

"Bran awoke not an hour past, how did she-"

"She seems to know everything, my dear Noma." He frowned for a moment before shaking his head, his smile returning as he approached the doorframe in which Arabelle stood. "Two moons later and he has awoken. I can scarcely believe it." Robb scratched the back of his head. "I would not question it." She smiled, crossing her arms and leaning against the frame of the door.

"That is wonderful news, Robb. I'll visit him in the morn, I doubt he would want me sneaking in to his chambers to tell him stories at this time of night."

"I think you'd be surprised, Benefort. He thinks the world of you."

Arabelle let loose a quick chuckle, looking up at those Tully-blue eyes. "And I of him."

Robb leant against the doorframe in much the same manner as she, looking down at her. She avoided her gaze, not wanting to meet his eyes. "I can see why he does." She could hear a smile spread across his lips, gods he could be so smug. "You have a brilliant mind."

"That makes a change. Usually I'm complimented on my looks. How refreshing." They both laughed, Arabelle looking up at the tousled mop of curly auburn hair. She could not deny that he was a handsome man. His shoulders were broad and body muscular from the hours of swordplay he committed to. "I suppose you're sort of pretty." Robb smirked, nudging he softly with his elbow. "My thanks! I suppose you're sort of handsome." She over exaggeratedly nudged him back. Their laughs died out slowly, smiles fading slightly as they looked each other in the eyes.

"Thank you, Ari. For taking care of my family." He whispered, shuffling his stance against the frame of the door.

Arabelle swallowed back the moisture from her mouth. "It is my womanly duty." She whispered, just as sarcastically as she had said it before.

"No, it isn't. That is why you have my thanks. You were willing to put your life at risk for my mother. You and your mother cared for mine for weeks, you have fed and bathed and played with Rickon. You have done so much for my family." His eyes were passionate, brows creased as he spoke with a measure of disbelief. "You're incredible." He whispered.

"Stark's and Benefort's have been close allies for centuries." Arabelle muttered, lowering her eyes to her feet. She felt a pang of guilt strike her. She had on some level been doing all of this to prove herself to the Stark's, as if they had already known of her indiscretion.

"Don't." Robb rolled his eyes. "You aren't under any obligation because of our houses' loyalties." He whispered, shifting slowly to lean over her. "You are far too kind." His voice was barely a whisper. He leant in further, pressing his lips to Arabelle's forehead. "Goodnight, Benefort."


End file.
